


Rough Edges

by jillyfae



Series: we might need a bigger swear jar [2]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Ficlet Collection, Friendship, Romance, Tenth Street Reds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-11 18:35:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2078784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jillyfae/pseuds/jillyfae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'd never been a boyscout. She certainly didn't need anyone else to save her. They rescued each other instead.</p><p>(Romance and character-study interstitials, prequels, etc.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. hope

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jade_Sabre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jade_Sabre/gifts), [servantofclio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/servantofclio/gifts).



The first time he’s close enough to kiss her, she threatens to kill him, and he just lifts his eyebrows, as if that’s  _normal_. 

Fucker.

The second time, she’s daring him to make a move, and those eyebrows lift again, and he shakes his head, just a little.

_Too good for me, are you?_

He shakes his head again.  _Not good enough, I’m sure, but no one is._

She has trouble holding her scowl at that, and their conversation sputters, and he leaves not long after.

But he says good-bye, like he’s planning to come back.

Like he’s glad she’s around to say good-bye  _to._

The third time she doesn’t even notice, he’s just  _there_ , solid and waiting, letting her do what she wants. What she needs. And suddenly she can  _breathe_ , as if his weight gives her room she hadn’t had before, and she stops reacting and thinks.

And does what needs to be done, and not a single thing more.

Doesn’t need more blood on her hands, does she?

His skin turns orange in the light from the explosion, afterwards, filtered through the shuttle’s screens, but there’s enough of it to see his usual grim expression soften.

Never met anyone else who thought explosions  _soothed._

_He’s almost as fucked up as I am._

It happens a half a dozen more times, as they work, as they fight, as they manage not to die, he’s close enough she can feel the heat of his skin, the spark of his omnitool as he makes it do something bright and fatal, he’s always too close, but she lets him stay there, and he nods at her, as if to thank her.

And if her shoulders roll and she cracks her neck he steps back, without her even having to figure out how to ask.

 _God-damned boyscout_.

But she stops twitching when he gets close, stops looking over her shoulder ‘cause she knows he’s standing there, blocking anyone else’s shot at her, and she doesn’t know what to do with that, with this feeling that makes her want to dance or scream, and her fingers shift and her knuckles crack but she doesn’t want to leave.

Doesn’t want him to leave.

Doesn’t know how to think that, much less say it, but she’s gonna try,  _I ain’t no fucking coward,_  has to do something,  _have to not fuck something up, for once, just once,_  this once might be nice.

She fucks it up anyways, but there, that’s that no-longer-a-scowl, which is as close as he seems to come to a smile, most days, and his fingertips are rough but his touch is soft as they brush across her cheek, and he is so fucking close, and she can feel his breath against her forehead before his lips touch, warm and gentle.

And she’s a fucking  _idiot,_  and she’s crying,  _again,_  but he just wraps his arm around her shoulders, and eventually they’re curled up on the couch, and there’s a callous on his thumb catching against a scar on the back of her arm as his fingers stroke, but she doesn’t mind,  _he doesn’t mind,_  and eventually she isn’t crying, and she isn’t  _angry,_  and she’s not sure if she’s anything at all, anymore, but it might be nice to find out.

She shifts, and he grunts, and she ignores the shine in his eyes to lift herself up, and kiss his temple, the slightest smudge of red catching right in the stubble at his hairline.


	2. sigh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ["a quiet sigh as they turn away"](http://faejilly.tumblr.com/post/167239883252) for N7 day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as a side note, as none of the things that mention him have shown up in fic, Luka is Ward's best friend, who talked him into joining the Alliance with him when they were both living on the streets. (They helped each other get good enough fake ID's to do it.)

She didn’t hate it here.

Shepard wasn’t sure what Jack  _did_  think about it, but her shoulders weren’t always tense, she’d been known occasionally to actually  _sit_  in a chair rather than perch at the edge of the table, she laughed at Joker and Garrus when they descended into another pun war, and she sometimes even ate in the mess instead of disappearing somewhere else with her haul of food.

Not when other people were eating, but still.

It was a singular act of trust, to let people see you eat. He remembered that, though it was clear her nightmares were even worse than his had been, once upon a time.

He missed Luka, sharp and fierce between his ribs, even worse than the usual dull ache every morning when he realized he didn’t dare send that e-mail, the one he kept writing and re-writing over and over again before he went to sleep.

Luka would have known what to say to her.

Luka would have known how to help.

Too bad Luka thought he was dead, so he couldn’t ask him.

Luka would also have known exactly what the non-expression on Shepard’s face meant and never stopped teasing him about it.

Maybe it was good he wasn’t here? No one else seemed to have figured out Shepard was rather disastrously full of feelings every time he saw Jack.

Or heard her boots on the deck plates, or saw the flicker of red-lights down in her claim-stake below engineering.

He was a mess, is what he was.

At least he was pretty sure he was a well contained mess? Knowing he was personally a disaster wasn’t nearly as bad as thinking any of his disaster had spilled over and made a single second of her life harder than it already had been.

Aw fuck that was sappy.

He stared down into his coffee mug and tried to figure out how  _not_  to impersonate cotton-candy in public.

He heard the boots.

He sighed, and slipped out of the mess back to his quarters. No reason to get in the way of her breakfast.

Maybe someday he’d convince her to join him for some reconstituted eggs or meal-bars? 

‘Cause everyone just  _loves_  fake eggs.

He shook his head and took a swig of his coffee.

Luka was never going to stop laughing, when they finally got caught up again.


	3. rust red dirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [N7 day prompt](http://faejilly.tumblr.com/post/167243379915)

The Reds first got their name from the stains on their clothes, the mud on their shoes, the ground up dirt and grease under their nails.

They emphasized it on purpose now, scrounging and trading for red clothes and tech whenever possible. 

Anyone else with too much red got it taken from them.

No one outside the Reds knew where it had started.

Once you were in, you found out. Once you were in, they took you  _home._

Home had probably been some sort of garage, something for the larger shipping trucks that used to deliver goods across the country. It was big enough for a barracks in the old storage room, there was a mostly functional shower between the bathrooms, a make-shift kitchen in the what had probably once been an office.

And in the bay? Everything else. Scrounged tech and weapons and blankets and drugs. Tools and toys and things that sparked and sizzled and fried the nerves or made you forget whatever you’d known before you found home.

Anything they’d ever need, anything that would pay for whatever else they wanted.

Home was surrounded by rusted out shells of old cars,  _actual cars, rims for tires and everything,_  old appliances, old anything made from metal that needed any of the old fuels that no one made anymore. Piled up, a maze of sharp edges and crumbling sides, impossible to get through without it marking you, scratches and rust-stains and bruises.

Especially impossible now, with only one route that shifted each month or so, booby-traps scattered everywhere else.

There were bones in their junkyard, people who’d poked their noses in too far. Some of the dirt was stained red with blood, old and dark. Most of it was rust though, deeper and redder every time it rained.

He liked to sneak out behind Home after the rain, scuff his boots through the mud ‘til the soles and sides were covered, ‘til the bottoms of his pants had picked up a spatter of orange and red and brown. He had to keep his hands clean in case they found a particularly fiddly bit of wiring to play with, but he liked to know he was marked nonetheless, liked to know that anyone who saw him knew.

Knew that if they messed with him, the fury of the Reds would fall on them.

No one survived that intact.

No one.


	4. too late

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [blood at the corner of your mouth](http://faejilly.tumblr.com/post/167247127641) for N7 Day

He felt Anderson die.

Felt the difference in the shoulder leaning against him, no more breath, no more heartbeat.

He wasn’t sure why he wasn’t dead too.

‘Sides the fact Jack’d give him hell for not coming back.

He felt a laugh try to rise from his chest but it hurt, _it hurt,_  and all he managed to do was spit to the side, blood dark enough he couldn’t help but wonder again how much time he had left.

Hopefully enough to see the Reapers die.

Hopefully enough to see everyone else live.

Hope died when he heard Hackett’s voice.

_Never enough time._

_Sorry Jack._


	5. fucking boyscout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [smut for N7 Day](http://faejilly.tumblr.com/post/167250679999)

Jack didn’t have nightmares. 

Sometimes she wished she did, wished the memories could tangle up in her head into something else, something less real, something she could fight, even if just in her dreams.

But she  _was_  a light sleeper, always opened her eyes when something changed around her.

Fucking awful in transit with a gaggle of teenagers squirming in their sleep; plenty of nightmares there, most of them trying to deal with their first taste of real combat. Like she knew how the fuck to calm down a teenager. Never really been one, not like they were. Seemed to be enough for now that she was there when they woke, warm and solid. Seemed enough she was still there when they went back to sleep.

It was less awful when it meant she woke up when Shepard’s breath caught, or he went too still in his sleep; the opposite of awful when she woke before Shepard’s nightmares got too bad.

He was a light sleeper too, if not quite so twitchy as she was. He was pretty easy to wake up, whispering his name or a soft touch to his shoulder, flicking on one of the smaller lights.

That wasn’t  _fun_  though, and it had been too long since they’d been together, last night only the beginning of everything she’d missed after he’d turned himself in, after she’d accepted the Alliance’s offer of amnesty in exchange for her passing along her “proficiency in extreme biotics” to their classes.

She grabbed his balls instead, a slight squeeze and push up closer to his body and he  _heaved_  awake, a curve of his hips as they lifted off the bed, and she’d barely managed to let go before he’d flipped them both over, the shape of him dark and heavy above her as he blinked and his head shook, not quite properly alert.

She snorted, tried to swallow her laughter and almost started coughing instead.

Then he kissed her, a hard push of his mouth against hers, and she hummed instead, wrapped her arms around his shoulders and kissed him back. Her tongue followed his mouth as he lifted his head, one last curl against his lip before he was too far away to reach.

“I missed you.” His voice was soft, still rasping with sleep, and she hummed again, felt her back curve ‘til her skin brushed against his bare chest, trying to feel his voice as well as hear it. 

He had such a good growl.

He followed her closer to the bed as her back eased back down, chest and hips and thighs resting against her, and his eyes glinted red and she hoped he could see her smile in the dark.

His nose rubbed against the line of her jaw, and he whispered again, even softer, even rougher, right in her ear, the feel of his breath enough to make her shiver in anticipation. “What do you want?”

“Kiss me again.”

He did, softer this time, a soft caress from his lips against her cheek before he reached her mouth. He opened his mouth to hers, slow and warm and wide, and she could have happily spent the rest of her life here, his arms framing her ribs and his shoulders beneath her arms and the soft feel of his breath and his tongue in her mouth.

But then his hips shifted, and her breath caught, and he laughed softly against her lips. “What else do you want?”

“What do you think?” She spread her thighs further apart until his weight was heavy between them, until she could feel his dick waking up too. 

He rolled his hips, and her own followed, and everything rubbed  _so_  nicely until her hum and his blended into something that was probably a groan and her chin lifted and her eyes closed and she could feel the muscles move across his back. She lifted her thighs even further apart, until his dick bumped against her clit and her whole body lifted with a shudder, her fingers curling until her fingertips pressed hard into his back, more of her weight supported by her grip around his shoulders than the bed beneath her.

He did it again, deliberate and steady, achingly slow, and her fingers dug in deeper and her breath stuttered and whined and her hips tilted to follow him, to push up just a little bit harder.

There, at last, was that low growl, a rumble in his breath and chest, against her skin, lower and lower ‘til she felt it in her chest, down her spine, across her hips, a shivering echo inside her cunt. 

Her thighs pushed against his hips, lifted her up, sharp and quick and hard,  _there, there, almost there,_ and his laugh was like his growl again, a little louder, a little harder, and she curved her fingers ‘til her nails dug in, ‘til she felt the way the skin gave beneath them.

“Need a good dicking do you?” His breath was a tease, his hips refusing either to push down harder or to shift back enough his next roll might put him inside her, and she’d happily take either right about now.

“I need  _you,_  dumb-ass.”

His hips went still, and she almost whimpered, almost swore,  _fucking perfect timing._  Sometimes he got so weird about  _feelings,_ always noticed when she said something more, well  _more,_  than usual, even though he knew, she knew, they both knew what they were.

She nipped at his jaw, felt him startle. “I love you, I do, but the dicking is a really nice bonus, you know?”

His laugh was lighter this time, his breath so warm against her skin she moaned,  _feelings_  and lust and impatience. He kissed her again, a hot glide of lips against her mouth, her jaw, open-mouthed and just the slightest scrape of teeth down her neck. 

His hips didn’t move though, and she slapped his back just enough to make a sound. “Hurry up, you bastard.”

He did, away and back and  _in,_  hard and fast and deep and she felt her fingers scrape down his back, felt the heat of his cock, the rub inside her, the throb of his pulse and hers, the soft thump as her head fell back hard against her pillow, as her whole body curved and lifted, thighs wide and hips aching and she loved him, loved this, loved when he fucked her like this, when it wasn’t just fucking,  _it was never just fucking,_  when he was so hot inside her she forgot she’d ever been cold.

His growl was back, she could feel it inside her, feel it shift as he moved, in and out, back and forth, slick and heat and the sound of her exhale each time he thrust, the sound of his gasp when she moved around him, again, again, giving, taking,  _perfect fucking, fucking perfect,_ and she let herself be loud, let herself cry out, louder than their bodies, louder than his grunt as she clenched around him, beneath him, tighter and hotter and she filled the air with her voice as he’d filled her with his dick,  _filled her life, filled her heart,_  and it started deep, and hard, fire and lightning, flaring through her, filling her, so good her heart stuttered and her eyes closed and it didn’t end, his hips tilting, sharp short thrusts as she tried to breathe, tried to hold,  _tried not to fall forever,_  sharp and fast until he found his own forever,  _found forever together,_ and his body sagged and her breath sagged and they slipped sideways, still half tangled together, half spread out across the sheets, and his hand found hers, fingers slipping together ‘til his grip was solid _._

She breathed, breathed ‘til she couldn’t feel the racing of her heart, ‘til her skin started to cool everywhere he wasn’t touching her. Breathed ‘til she thought she’d remembered how to talk. “I missed you too.”

He laughed again, a ragged breath before he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight against him to kiss her.


End file.
